


'Til Death Do Us Part

by RenaRoo



Series: Bitter Pill [6]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:56:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6298072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaRoo/pseuds/RenaRoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Bitter Pill AU] Jensen and Palomo know that it’s a losing battle on a dying world, but there’s something to be said for commitment and not knowing when to stay down. In other words, marriage is just their kind of fight. They hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Til Death Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the AU that was made by the terrible terrible terrible amalgamation of @goodluckdetective, @secretlystephaniebrown, and @powerfulpomegranate all being in one skype chat and going “Hey so there’s this one episode of TMNT2k3 that has a darkest timeline. HMMM.” And man, it has been just too long since I put some concentration on my dear precious lieutenants. 
> 
> So this heartache is dedicated to Iz, Steph, and Becky. May our cruelty to fictional characters never truly be over.

When she heard from her old squadmates, Jensen wasted no time in taking off across the base. Her heart was racing to the pace of her feet as she tore through other soldiers to get to her friends. 

A part of her, a fairly large part, didn’t believe a word of it. They had counted out the Reds and Blues before, been gloriously proven wrong about their friends and mentors time and time again. 

But she was the logical one. She knew what the stakes of war were. 

The battle with Charon’s forces was devastating all around. The planet was barely keeping itself stitched together and the volume of people lost at the last few insurgences had been brutal.

And it was that acceptance of reality, that understanding that everything that _could_ go wrong thus far _had_ gone wrong, that Jensen felt take over as she slowed to a stop and was caught in her near asthmatic collapse by Bitters. 

When Jensen saw Palomo barely held together, sobbing on the floor with Andersmith by his side and squeezing his shoulders tight, a switch was flipped. 

Captain Lavernius Tucker was assumed dead. 

It was a bitter pill, but Jensen swallowed it from the beginning. 

* * *

At some point it became as common to hear _Katie_ on the lips of her closest as it was to hear _Jensen._

A year after Captain Tucker’s apparent death and the planet was crumbling around them. So much so that Jensen began to push for more than passing familiarity with those she considered to be her family – her squad.

“I haven’t been called John in so long it feels like it belongs to someone else,” Andersmith had joked, keeping watch by the door of the small compound their squad was taking rest in. 

Supply runs were dangerous, but fixing machines was a necessity. And Jensen was the one who always knew what Doctor Grey and Captain Simmons were talking about when they listed off the kinds of things they needed. She sometimes even knew what junk was important that they hadn’t mentioned.

Andersmith, Bitters, and Palomo would never agree to let her go alone. 

(And she was more grateful than she had words to express it with.)

“Antoine’s a douchey name,” Bitters added, sitting in the back, gun balanced over his knee. “I guess I fit it.”

“I was about to say,” Palomo chuckled.

“Shut it, _Charlie,”_ Bitters snarked back.

Smiling at her friends, Jensen continued to polish off the supplies they had gathered. It was nice to have all four of them still together. Even with the world moments from destruction at any given breath, even with Chorus as they knew it long dead, she almost felt confident in the resistance’s ability to hold together if the four of them could stand together within it.

Palomo’s hand, as it always did, found a way to brush fingers over her’s as they sat together. 

“Have we got everything we need, Katie?” he asked, seemingly not even noticing the placement of their hands. 

“Almost,” she answered.

* * *

They shouldn’t have been there.

_John_ wasn’t supposed to be there.

After the public execution, Captain Grif and Captain Simmons were harder to work for. But under the circumstances that had been something of a blessing. 

Even more than before, they were all treating the war as real. 

Or, rather, they were finally calling the war what it really was: _a slaughter._

A prolonged, bloody, poisonous death that was weeding them one by one. 

Going out on your own was suicide. But leaving any base as a group made you a target. And the mercenaries themselves liked to take on the bigger groups, always looking for the former Project Freelancer operatives to be among the faces. 

It made finding equipment more difficult than ever before and Jensen’s squad absolutely refused to let her go alone despite the potential risk to themselves.

Which was why she stopped telling them when she went. 

There was no way she could have foreseen the black and green armor appearing just over her as she scrounged through debris and rubble of one of the broken alien temples. There was no way – for some reason he hadn’t shown up on her infrared. 

“No no no!” she screamed before she even realized she was reacting at all. 

She held up the duffle of parts she’d gathered so far and covered her face just before the butt of his gun came down at her face. The force enough was enough to send her tumbling backwards toward the temple stairs. Despite herself, despite the steeling of her heart over the years, she found herself crying out and sobbing as she tumbled, as her elbow shattered on impact in the landing.

With Locus, unlike Felix, she could expect a fast death she supposed. But this time Locus didn’t even speak. He didn’t philosophize or justify himself.

She supposed Locus wouldn’t waste it on someone as unimportant as her, but then he didn’t immediately kill her either. 

He still wasn’t talking and soaking up the sound of his own voice like Felix, but whoever this was, he was _enjoying_ the way Jensen cried out as she failed to push herself up. As he dug the heel of his boot into her back.

“I don’t regret it!” she screamed at him through her tears. “I don’t regret fighting to live! Don’t you forget that!” She could feel her helmet crack as he stomped on the back of her head. “Oh god!” 

“Hands _off_ her!”

Jensen didn’t expect to be saved. She didn’t even expect to be found – she knew her risks when she left the security of their base. 

Instead of elation at hearing Andersmith’s voice, Jensen felt her blood run cold.

_Oh god, he had been watching over her. Oh god, why?_

_“John!”_ she coughed out just before the pressure of the boot on her back left and she turned enough to see her squad leader tackle her attacker at the waste. “John, no! Please–”

It was like watching everything in slow motion. Andersmith on top of their attacker, brutally throwing his full weight into every punch at the man’s face. Winning. Using every honed in protective instinct he’d ever shown for their team to destroy the threat at hand. 

And then there was a blast. 

“John,” Jensen gasped as she sat up, ignoring the saltiness of her tears or the filling of blood in her own mouth. 

She watched as Andersmith’s shoulders slumped and his posture wavered, the beading of red bubbling up through the metal weave on his back. The Blue leader swayed forward but Locus’ hand kept him upright as the inhuman monster slid out from underneath him in one smooth motion. 

“No, please. John… _no_ , John–” Jensen babbled, finding herself incapable of rising up more than to her knees. Her body shook as she watched Locus stand, still holding Andersmith up just enough as a series of gurgling chokes came from him. 

There were sparks flying from Locus’ body and a rickety noise as he purposefully turned his head just enough to look Jensen in the face. Then he pushed Andersmith back, letting the soldier drop onto his back.

Locus left her, and Jensen swarmed to Andersmith’s side.

“John!” she cried out as he gagged and choked. She looked the man up and down, trying so hard to find answers to the puzzle of the human body. There was a hole where kevlar and abdomen should have been and blood where Jensen knew there shouldn’t have been.

Why couldn’t her friend be as simple as a goddamn radio?

“John, shhh, listen to me,” Jensen cried, moving her hands to where his were already weakly holding. Even through the thick gauntlets she could feel the rush of warmth coming through. Her tears wouldn’t stop. “John, hold on. Okay? Hold on. I don’t know what to do. We’ll get you to a doctor – the best doctor. We’ll get you to Doctor Grey, okay?” 

“Mmm mmmkkk,” he whimpered, and _god_ John was never supposed to make a whimper. Not in all the years she had known him. “Kkkk-nn… Kkk-nntt… mmm–” One of his hands shakily left his stomach and reached upward, fumbling across his chest plate before scratching at his neck as he choked. “Kkk–nnttt…”

“Breathe!?” she caught on, reluctantly leaving her hold on Andersmith’s twisted and bleeding abdomen before unlatching his helmet. There was a hiss of air and she ripped the helmet aside, letting her commander take a fresh breath of air. 

Andersmith’s eyes were glassy and red, sweat pouring off his face as he gritted his teeth. His nose flared and he looked repulsed toward the blood on his own trailing hand. 

“Th-there, is… is that better!? A-are you better?” Jensen pleaded, feeling herself fall apart. “B-b-because if-if you’re not-not better… I-I-I don’t know what… what…”

Her nose was still pouring blood and her vision was swimming from tears and the stomp to the back of her head. 

One of her best friends – her brother in arms, her leader – was dying. And she couldn’t deny it even for his sake. 

When she felt a bloody hand slowly caress her cheek, Jensen allowed herself to melt into the touch, to begin sobbing without remorse, her body quaking. She held the hand against her cheek as she openly wept. 

“John, w-w-why,” she cried out. “Why did y-y-you follow m-m-m-me?” 

The hand drifted downward, grabbing the radio latched to her shoulder, and turned it on. 

Jensen looked back at Andersmith’s face as he looked back at her. 

“Th-the-they might not g-get here in t-time,” she warned him.

He forced a smile. 

They wouldn’t get there in time for Andersmith, but they got there in time for Jensen.

* * *

She was in the hospital for a week after they recovered her and Palomo – _Charlie –_ didn’t leave once. 

He craved to hold her hands – the hands that had held John’s, that had been covered his his blood as they failed to keep his pieces together – but after the first try he respected that Katie couldn’t allow that to happen. Not yet. 

As far as she was concerned, her hands were no good.

Bitters never came in once while she was awake. If he did at all. 

He was in every one of Charlie’s stories about what nonsense he and Antoine got into during the brief moments he would go get food or run or report in, but Bitters never came in himself. 

He couldn’t stand to look at her. And that was fine, Katie was sure she couldn’t stand to look at herself either. 

There was a crack in each of them. An open wound left bleeding on the field where Andersmith stained the grounds. 

One of the times toward the end of the week that Doctor Grey evaluated Katie’s wounds herself, Katie finally found it in her to use her hands.

She grabbed Doctor Grey’s wrists and held them tight. She looked the woman tiredly in the eyes, her own bloodshot from night after night of not being able to sleep to the sounds of Andersmith choking on air. 

“Would he have lived if he had had a doctor with him?” she demanded. 

“Sweetie, there was no doctor out there,” Grey sighed only to look more serious when Katie increased her grip. 

“Then make one,” Katie demanded. “My hands aren’t any good until I can save someone with them.”

“You couldn’t have done anything, dear–”

“I know,” Katie said without hesitation. “But I _will_ know next time. Teach me.”

After a moment, Grey nodded.

* * *

Kimball went down fighting. 

That was the main point in Agent Carolina’s speech as she stood before the hollow remains of the Resistance. She talked about the values – the life, the _existence_ – that might have seemed so basic and so minimal a planet away were the greatest form of rebellion they had left.

If they continued to live, then that alone was defying Charon. That every day life remained on their planet, that they _continued_ on the planet, they were technically winning. 

It was half true. It was a flaccid attempt to rally the people as Carolina took control of leading what remained. The tiny remains of the Reds and Blues stood awkwardly at her side.

Perhaps they were like Katie Jensen, understanding of the need for the speech, but also knowing the message that lied beneath its surface. That they were fighting a losing war.

Bitters knew it. Jensen could see it in his eyes as they were all dismissed and he walked the opposite way of the bunkers. 

Charlie, still moved by Carolina’s words, looked astonished at their friend. “Hey, Antoine– where are you going?”

Stopping, Bitters let out a low sigh and shook his head. He didn’t turn around.

“I’m done,” he informed them.

“Done? What does _that_ mean?” Charlie blinked in confusion.

Katie grabbed his hand. Charlie looked to it then to her, still no understanding in his eyes as he looked back to Bitters.

“John’s dead. Kimball died,” Bitters listed off. “I’m not fighting under anyone else. I’m done.”

Without armor, without bullets, without a gun, Bitters kept walking. And every inch of Charlie’s body wanted to follow, but he stayed. He was tethered to Katie’s hand. 

She understood what Bitters was doing. And she knew why. 

And it killed her a little to think back on how the back of her old once-friend was the last she ever saw of him. Knowingly. Letting him go because…

Survival was what the resistance was fighting for. And some of them weren’t able to hold that burden anymore.

* * *

“Don’t ever try to leave these walls without me,” Katie ordered, her grip on Palomo’s wrist tightening with every word. 

“You’re a medic, Katie,” Charlie reminded her, a twist in his smile. “You’re more important to keep in the base. I’m just… you know. _Here._ A soldier. It’s my job to leave–”

“Is it your job to look for Bitters?” she demanded. “Is that a necessary risk?”

“Of course it is,” he replied, a furrow building in his brows. “Antoine’s our friend. And he’s in danger out there. He needs to know that we’re moving bases before he ends up needing us and we’re not here–”

Bitters was dead. Almost assuredly. 

He had not been seen or heard from since the day he left their base. There were no supplies in the wastelands of Chorus. There was no escaping the watchful eyes of Charon without equipment to do so. 

Katie knew it. Everyone knew it. 

Charlie was not everyone. 

“I have to believe he’s okay,” Charlie said, tugging his hand back. “Just like you have to believe everyone who comes into the hospital is capable of making it.”

He turned and he left her in the base and Katie wanted to scream.

She never believed everyone was capable of making it. She lived every day for those moments when she was proven wrong. 

* * *

Washington was the first to truly train her. Captain Simmons – and really the other Reds and Blues – inspired her, gave her the team that would make Katie feel great. 

But Agent Washington made her a true soldier. He made all of them soldiers, and as the lieutenants were whittled down, she could see the sadness grow in his face. 

But as Captain Caboose was buried, she watched the man change before their eyes. 

He did not break as she had feared – having watched so many of her heroes go to pieces as the attacks on Charon devastated them more and more. He became stone, inhuman, cold. 

The color drained from Agent Washington that day. And he all but spat at Carolina’s feet when she tried to get him to stay. 

Katie stood by and waited for the blinded man to walk by before she stepped out to him. 

“I’m sorry,” she called out. 

The man stopped, turned his head just enough to acknowledge he heard her, and waited patiently for her to continue. 

“I’m sorry. You trained me to be a soldier,” she explained. “I wasn’t in the field. I wasn’t… I wasn’t there to help him.”

“How many lives have you saved?” he demanded. 

“Excuse me?”

Still not turning around to face her, Washington continued, “Jensen, I am asking you, how many lives have you saved since you became Doctor Grey’s protege. Answer. I’ve watched you count them before. I know you know.”

“Three hundred and twelve,” she replied. 

Washington took a breath and nodded. “How many soldiers does the resistance have left, Jensen?”

“Four hundred and two,” she said before flinching. “F-four hundred and one if you leave.”

“That number’s because of you, then,” Washington informed her. “ _Never_ apologize for that.”

And again, she watched someone walk out of her life.

* * *

Every day after that, Charlie was still there. In spite of everything.

“Marry me, Katie,” he said one day, literally over cafeteria food.

Katie strummed her spork through her mashed potatoes and then looked suspiciously at him. “Marry?”

“Marry me,” Charlie insisted even more. “In spite of everything, I believe we can find good in this world.”

She was not a pessimist, though she was certain Charlie would disagree if she ever said otherwise. She didn’t see the world through gloom and doom. She simply saw Chorus for what it was.

A slow, slow death. 

And they were the scattered remains of what once was. She _knew_ this. 

There was not a happy ending for them on this world. And there was no escaping it so long as Charon was over them. 

And yet. 

There was another look at _marry me._ There was a desperate tinge to the wrinkles that had grown around Charlie’s eyes. There was a gaunt way to his cheeks held over his face. There was an understanding that hadn’t been there in the years before that not _everything_ was going to be okay. 

And to share that, to stay together, to out loud make a commitment with that known fact, was a promise.

That every second until _death do us part_  was worth it. 

And that was one small promise, some undeniable truth, that even on Chorus was worth having. 

 


End file.
